daughter and your grievances against Dr. Whitaker. Can we do that?”
Hyatt stared at Stevens, glared at Nina over his shoulder, then nodded. “About damn time,” he muttered.
To Archer, Stevens said, “I’ll have to catch up with you another time.”
Archer nodded, then glanced at Nina and Simon, his gaze landing on their linked hands. Although his eyes widened in surprise, Simon didn’t let go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
AS HE LED HER OUTSIDE, Nina clung to Simon’s hand as if it was a lifeline.
Such hatred. Such anger. All that intensity scared her. And, for a split second, made her question herself. Could she have wormed the information out of Michael Callahan sooner? Should she have pushed him harder?
Simon turned to her and caught her gaze with his. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
Rationally, she knew that. She knew Becca Dee’s father was projecting. He hadn’t been able to protect his daughter and was turning his guilt onto someone else—her. His rage had probably been bottled up inside him ever since he’d heard his daughter had been kidnapped, just waiting for a moment to explode. Waiting—
“The nickname he used... Do you think he’s the one?”
Simon hesitated. “Anything’s possible, remember? But given your past with Davenport and the fact he broke into your house, I’m still more inclined to believe he’s the one responsible.”
“Even though your theory about wanting to eradicate mental illness could apply just as equally to Hyatt as it could to Davenport? Given that Rebecca—Becca Dee—was kidnapped by a mentally ill man?”
“Even then,” Simon said.
“Why?”
“The first homeless man, remember? He was killed before I met you. Before his daughter was kidnapped.”
“Oh. That’s right.”
“You okay?”
She squeezed his hand tighter. “With you here with me? Yes. I just wish we could figure out what was going on.”
“I know. But I promise, Nina. I won’t stop looking until I find out.”
With Simon’s promise, Nina’s nerves settled once more. He’d do everything he could. For her. For the two men who had been murdered. Even for Six. Right now, that was enough comfort that she was able to relax somewhat and enjoy her lunch.
That enjoyment was short-lived, however.
They were just paying their bill when a broadcast on the television set playing in the corner of the sports bar caught Nina’s attention. “Simon,” she said. “Look. It’s Davenport.”
Simon cursed, but the two of them went over to the television set and watched as Davenport held court in front of a camera crew. “He’s out on bail,” Simon gritted out. “And the first thing he’s going to do is hold a press conference? I can just bet what he intends to say.”
Illuminated by klieg lights from the news crews, Davenport’s tears shone on his cheeks. He insisted that a shrink, Nina, who was working with the DOJ and SFPD, had caused his daughter to commit suicide. He admitted to sending Nina a threatening letter, and even going to her house, but claimed that he’d just gone to talk to her. According to him, she’d been angry with him and retaliated by having him arrested for a crime he hadn’t committed, and that she’d corralled her boyfriend, Simon, into the mix.
After that, Davenport said, he’d been taken into police custody and treated despicably. Bullied and beaten. By Simon. Because he was engaged in a romantic relationship with Nina.
Just as he had when Hyatt had railed at her, Simon now surreptitiously grasped Nina’s hand, tucking their clasped hands behind his back so no one could see. Her fingers trembled and he squeezed, hoping she’d feel his reassurance through the pressure.
The lawyer who’d obviously orchestrated the event handed the man a handkerchief. “That’s all my client has to say for now,” the lawyer said into the microphones. “The SFPD has blatantly disregarded this man’s rights and favored one of their own. We are bringing suit to the SFPD for unlawful detention.”
The interview ended. With a sick feeling, Nina turned to Simon. “I’m so sorry,” she said.
“For what? This isn’t your fault.”
“Maybe not, but because of me, Davenport is making up lies about you. Stirring up more trouble between you and the public. That can’t be good.” Can’t be good for his bid to be in management, she thought.
But Simon didn’t appear concerned about that. “He’s not the first suspect to make unjust complaints about me and he won’t be the last, Nina. I’m not worried about it, and I don’t want you to worry about it, either. You have enough on your plate as it is.”